


Flash Point

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gross, Hand Jobs, M/M, Messy, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a core generator overloads and the crew of Starkiller Base undertakes emergency procedures, General Hux is unable to find Ren in the scramble. Ren won’t even answer his communicator, and Hux does not wait to find out what the Supreme Leader would do if his apprentice were to be injured amid construction. At least the tracker in Ren’s communicator is still active, but when he follows the signal and finds Ren dressed as a tech, alone in an engineering annex, he doesn’t know what to think. Then, with a hiss and a click, the door locks behind him as the Base reroutes power to auxiliary generators, and they are stuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash Point

What’s worse, Hux has the ability to override the locks– from the bridge. But they’re not ON the bridge, and Hux is left seething, with Ren in a ridiculous costume for some stupid reason, in an empty, sweltering room, watching as Ren strips off the blonde wig, shakes out his sweaty hair, tucks a lock behind his ear, and stares at him through overlarge glasses. Then the vest hits the floor with a clatter. Then he’s unzipping the jumpsuit, peeling his arms out of it, letting it hang off of his hips. Infuriatingly, the glasses stay on, as if Ren has utterly forgotten they’re there, perched on his ears and sitting crookedly on his nose, framing the sullen cast of his eyes. 

Hux maintains for as long as he can, feeling the sweat pricking everywhere skin creases. His uniform rasps his damp skin, makes it raw, painful, sensitive. He licks his lips and tastes the tang of salt gathering, as he glares Ren down, but Ren, damn him, seems unconcerned with how he looks, half naked with an ugly jumpsuit slipping down, showing a flash of his undergarments. He doesn’t even have the common decency to tug the jumpsuit up, tie it around his waist, do something to preserve an air of professionalism between them even if he’s going to slouch around looking like a common  _tech_.

While the core overload had  _probably_  not been Ren’s fault, their location in this annex certainly was, and already Hux is devising a long dressing-down about Ren’s negligent abandonment of his post, his choice of a location with no exit strategy, his inexplicable wardrobe. Ren, for his part, already looks flatly bored, giving him the precise look he always does whenever Hux tries to explain just what has gone wrong and in what ways Ren is to blame. Ren sits on the floor to remove his boots and Hux feels a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck and soak into his collar. His pressed uniform is going to be in an utter state when he gets out of this. He clasps his hands behind his back, lips twitching, while Ren shimmies out of his coveralls and sits on them, cross-legged, and mostly nude.

“Haven’t you debased yourself enough for one day?” Hux snaps, finally.  Ren only clicks his tongue and stretches his legs out in front of him. “Are you going to explain that hideous getup I found you in?”

“No,” Ren replies, stretching his arms up over his head. A drop of sweat drips from his pectoral, sides down his ribs, traces his abdomen, is absorbed into his underwear. “You’re the one who looks ridiculous. You’re dehydrating yourself on purpose, wearing all of your layers. Surely a military man like you has some basic survival skills?” 

Hux does not want to rise to the bait. He doesn’t want to give in, and he doesn’t want to admit that Ren is right. Likely, they wouldn’t be trapped here for long enough that what water he lost through sweat would make a tremendous difference, but he’s heard horror stories about servicemen stuck in turbolifts for hours on end, and decides not to risk it. He still rolls his eyes at Ren as he unfastens his belt and tunic, placing them carefully on the room’s lone chair. 

That alone is enough of a relief that he briefly considers leaving it at that, standing in his undershirt, trousers, and boots, but Ren, at long last, removes the glasses and folds them to the side as carefully as if they weren’t perfectly fake. 

“Your priority of propriety over common sense is not one of your best traits, General. I should hope a leader of the First Order would be better equipped than that.”

“Is there a particular reason you’re urging me to strip?”

Ren’s expression darkens, and in response, Hux’s frown deepens. “General. You’re acting very suspiciously.” His hair clings damply to his neck, curls lank at his brow. Again, he tucks a lock behind his ear, making it stick out. He wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist. 

“What do you mean, ‘suspiciously’?” Hux demands, cutting his eyes across the scant few feet between them. 

“What is it you think I will do with the sight of your bare legs?”

The insult is double-edged, and hits, literally, below the belt. Hux snarls as he unbuttons his jodhpurs and sits on the chair, pushing his clothing into a bundle to pull off his boots. He stands them up next to each other, as if for inspection, before standing and crisply removing his trousers without so much as a glance at Ren. Honestly. That this man should think he can get under Hux’s skin, that he thinks he can goad him—

Ren says nothing. In fact, when Hux does look over, he’s not even paying attention. He’s still sitting there, on his pile of inappropriate clothes, his legs making a wide, obscene angle and his black briefs entirely too thin for an overly generous package. Hux scowls. Ren shakes his sweaty hair out of his eyes in what appears to be the theme of the cycle. Another drop falls from his chin. 

Hux sits on the chair, in his undershirt and shorts, feeling the dampness spread across his back. He shifts. He can feel his ass sweating, and hates it. Hates it enough to long for the frozen tundra of the planet’s surface. 

“Can’t you just…  _Force_  the door open?” he complains, knowing how hypocritical he must sound, after all of his speeches to Ren about damaging First Order equipment.

“Yes, but it would cause this sub level to automatically divert power to remote diagnosis, then alarm, then a repair request, which obviously can’t be fulfilled right now. That’s power that is better used elsewhere, don’t you think?”

Hux is tired of these jabs at his competence. He is about to say something to that effect when Ren flops backward onto the floor and utters a soft groan.

“The duracrete is quite cool,” he says, somehow managing to make even that sound malicious. Ren rolls onto his front, presenting Hux with another intolerable view: Ren’s ass, round and very likely muscular, his back, shiny and broad, his quadriceps, entirely too much. Maybe Ren was right, and he had been dehydrating himself, because his mouth is suddenly very dry. Ugh, how terrible, he can see the curve of Kylo’s balls nestled there between his thighs. Dreadful. 

He finds himself sinking to the floor, if only for some relief from the stinking heat. They must be near some plant room, for it to be this hot, energy spilling through the walls. That could be investigated, Hux thinks absently, to see if the heat loss is making the base less efficient. 

Again, Ren mutters one of those unnecessary grunts, spreading his arms out on either side, and his legs even wider. Hux stretches out on his back, and pointedly ignores Ren’s outsized body laid out across the floor.

“It shouldn’t take too long, General,” Ren soothes. “An engineer will be along to reset the locks.” Immediately Hux is upright again. 

“Obviously,” he sniffs. “We don’t generally employ layabouts. With one  _notable_  exception.”

“Just because you don’t understand what I do, doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything,” Ren insists, rolling onto his back again so he can glare at Hux more effectively. Hux, rather unfortunately, shifts his answering glare down the line of Ren’s abdomen, as though it has personally offended him. Perhaps it has. Too quickly, Ren is in his face, crouching near him like a cagey animal, and Hux is overheated all over again at the thought of moving that fast. “I am here by the will of the Supreme Leader,” Ren proclaims. 

“Here, in this engineering annex?” Hux replies blandly, and Ren snarls, and jabs him in the centre of the chest with two fingers. Hux coughs, and falls to the ground and clocks his skull on the duracrete. He thinks, blearily, that it was a fair question, since he’d never gotten any explanation as to what the kriffing hell Ren was doing down here in the first place, dressed like he was, with his face uncovered for anyone to see. He blinks stars out of his eyes and turns to Ren, not even bothering to sit up. “Honestly, Ren, I understand you are some vital piece in the Supreme Leader’s machinations. I don’t understand why he’s brought you here to Starkiller Base. He makes allusions now and again to some training as yet unfinished. Why are you here, when you could be off… wherever he is, doing whatever it is mystic knights do? I doubt playing dress-up is part of your sacred rites,” he spits, flailing one limp hand at Ren’s wig, jumpsuit, and high-vis vest. 

He knows he’s asking for it, but the blow never comes. Instead, Ren just unfolds himself on the floor, pressing his skin into the duracrete, and closing his eyes.

“It’s too hot to fight with you. If you’re going to piss and moan, can it wait until we’re out of here?” 

Hux bristles, but then, takes a deep breath, releases it slowly, and reminds himself not to rise to Ren’s petty insults. He watches the path of another bead of sweat sliding over Ren’s ribs to splash against the floor. 

“What do you want now, Hux?” Oh, so he’s no longer referring to him by his proper title? He flicks his eyes up, and Ren is staring, his pupils eclipsing his irises completely. Hux tastes salt again when he licks his lips. 

“Nothing.” The sweat  is making him itch, making his skin crawl, making him even more short-tempered. He might just do something rash. Why did it have to be Kylo Ren who got trapped here with him? 

“Fine,” Ren grits out, rolling onto his side and turning his back on Hux. Delirious, Hux finds himself fixated by the way Ren’s waistband cuts into his skin. He’s damp all over, and his hair is a lost cause, spilled ink-like over the duracrete as he pouts. Hux can just about smell him, the fresh sweat, obviously but then he’s got… maybe some kind of hair product, fragrant in the air, and ash, and ozone. Anyone who knew him would immediately recognize those as his distinct scent, ruining his already terrible disguise. The hair product, though, is a bit of a surprise— he never  thought of Ren as one who cares much about his appearance. Shredded cowl over an outfit designed to hide every part of him. What does he care, when no one is going to see him, besides the Supreme Leader, and Hux himself? 

It’s an odd scent, though, and Hux can’t quite place it, shifts closer as if that will help jog his memory. It’s extract from some tree. He’s smelled it somewhere before, but where or when is utterly lost to him.

“Are you… smelling me?” Ren asks, though he doesn’t shift away. 

“What is your hair product made from?” Hux answers, hoping he can shift the abnormality of his actions. 

“The same bean from which caf is derived. Good caf, at any rate. Not synthetic.” He settles onto his back again, and Hux props himself up. He’d rarely had the chance to drink real caf, himself. It was too expensive to go aboard a starship, and he’d only been afforded the privilege after a few official dinners, planetside. Where did Kylo Ren develop enough of a taste for it to be such a  _snob?_   

  
“It smelled familiar,” Hux replies, lamely. Again, Ren’s caught him out, and worse, revealed him as a rube. Hux slumps to the ground again and hopes for salvation or suffocation, whichever comes first. He supposes Ren has more time to go galavanting around, buying fancy hair soaps, while Hux makes do with military-grade, like every other enlisted serviceman. 

“My hair gets really—” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, “under the helmet, so.” 

“I would imagine.” Have they ever had a more civil conversation than this? 

They lapse into silence, and Hux watches the occasional click of Ren’s throat, as if it marks out the time. He’s horrified when Ren reaches down to cup himself through his briefs, and hisses a sharp, “ _What_  do you think you’re doing?!” only to get an unimpressed look in response. 

“I’m adjusting. It’s hot, in case you hadn’t noticed. Stars, Hux, I bet you sleep with your hands above the covers.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ren’s hand is no longer pressed against the line of his cock in his underwear, but it lingers near his hip and Hux can’t look away.

“ _Good_  boys keep their hands where mummy can see them,” Ren says, nastily. “ _Good_  boys don’t touch their cocks in the night.” His smile is vicious, as if he’d uncovered something Hux had kept buried. But, Ren isn’t at all describing Hux’s pubescent experience, so he can’t work out why he’s so  _smug_ —

“What are you blathering on about?” he snipes, hoping to deflect. Something queer is going on here, and he can’t quite—

Ren only glares into him. His smile has gone but left its ghost, and Ren seems determined to spook him. “Is that what you were afraid of, General?” There it is again, his rank, but it feels like it oughtn’t belong. “Before, when you hesitated to undress. Did you fear for your  _virtue?_ ”

“Ren!” Hux hisses, but the man is leaning up, shifting closer, too close in this heat.

“Was that because you thought  _I_  might do something less than virtuous? Or that  _you_  would?”

His breath is too hot on Hux’s cheek, but moving away would be as good as baring his throat. 

“Is that your plan, Ren?” He stares boldly into Ren’s yes, daring him.

“What?” Ren falters, and Hux, internally, crows at having called his bluff.

“To do something less than virtuous,” Hux answers, as if the mere thought of it bores him. “Personally I think the heat may be too oppressive for anything too  _vigorous_ , but, if you insist…”

He expects Ren to scowl, maybe shoot back with more unkindness. If he’s really lucky he might get an indignant flush. He doesn’t expect Ren to crawl over on top of him, drop his face entirely too close, and hold himself there, just centimeters from touching him, staring him down and licking his lips. 

“I do insist,” he states, so seriously that Hux swallows. 

“What did you have in mind?” Hux asks quietly.

At this, Ren casts his eyes around, as though the answers he seeks are written on the ducts somewhere. “I didn’t,” he admits, looking as annoyed about it as Hux feels. Rolling his eyes, Hux taps Ren’s chest until the man backs off.

“Here, bring those overalls over,” he instructs, and sighs when Ren calls them across the room with the Force. “Roll them up or fold them or whatever you want. You’ll want a pillow for this.”

“For what?” Kylo asks, eyeing Hux darkly even as he bundled the jumpsuit into a roll. 

“I told you I thought it was too hot for anything vigorous,” Hux explains. “There now. On your knees. Good. Back to me. Now I suggest you fold your arms under your head.”

It takes a moment for Ren to comply, but Hux simply stands by expectantly until Ren folds himself down, his ass in the air. There are better positions for this, but Hux is flexible. He’ll manage.

“What are you doing?” Ren asks again, when Hux hooks fingers into Ren’s waistband. Still, he doesn’t stop him, doesn’t reach out with the Force to hold Hux still. Hux tugs the stretchy black fabric down Ren’s thighs, and leaves them there. 

“I’m going to tongue your ass. Do you have any thoughts about that? Objections?” Hux gives in to temptation and strokes his hands down Ren’s flanks, finally resting on his ass, squeezing appreciatively. Truly, that robe never did this fine body any justice. His hands slip down, around Kylo’s hips to his abdomen, run up his twitching stomach, feel out scars and muscles. Ren whines, hips shuddering, bumping Hux’s body. Hux takes pity, and brushes one hand lightly over Ren’s cock, which is not quite hard yet, but still enough to make Hux lightheaded. He can imagine himself in Ren’s position, split open on his cock, which grows larger with each upward stroke. He’d drool onto the floor. He’d arch and whine. He’d make a complete fool of himself. 

He hopes he gets the opportunity.

Some other time, maybe, he promises himself, when he’s not locked in a stiflingly hot room, his undershirt soaked through, his hair falling into his eyes. He’ll have to endeavor to make it happen. He’ll have to make this good for Ren, good enough that he’ll come sniffing after him when he finds himself wanting. 

Hux lets his fingers trail down, pets at Ren’s balls, listens to the hitch of his breath as his cock twitches against his wrist. 

“Are you ready for it?”

“Uh-huh.” Ren’s answer is thick in his throat, and it makes Hux think of what Ren would look like, would  _sound_  like, with his indulgent lips wrapped around a cock. Hux puts this on the to-do list, as well, as his fingers rub up and down the underside of Ren’s cock, making him pant a low groan. “Hux, please.”

Well. He didn’t think it would be this easy to make Ren beg. “Please what?” he teases, index finger sliding into the slit at the head of Ren’s cock, toying with his foreskin. Where in the hell did Ren come from, with his New Republican accent and his uncircumcised cock? It’s all so perfectly filthy, and he’s about to make it filthier. 

“Please, Hux, I didn’t know people even did that. But I want to feel you doing it. Please.” He’s slightly muffled by the knot of his clothing under his face, and Hux runs his hands up to squeeze his ass again, spread his cheeks apart. 

“Oh, how perfect,” Hux mumbles, before he can stop himself, and he’s not even sure he means the fact that no one had ever done this to Ren before, or if he’s referring to Ren’s beautifully hairless ass, which is clenching invitingly. He knows it’s going to be sweaty, musky, disgusting. He doesn’t know when Ren last bathed. His cock jumps in his shorts and stains them with precome. He licks his lips, and noses into the crease, breathing hotly over Ren’s furled hole and making him whimper. 

Ren doesn’t smell of ozone or ash, here. Just the sweat, and some darker, warmer thing Hux thinks of as flesh and vitality. He allows himself a long lick from Ren’s perineum to the base of his spine, and Ren sucks in a choking breath, his thighs already quaking under Hux’s hands. Immediately, Hux’s tongue seeks out Ren’s hole, pushes against it, laves around it. 

“Oh, oh, fuck—!” Ren hisses, and Hux moans a response, and Ren’s hips push back into his face. “Oh, shit, your moan. I feel it. I feel it so deep,” he groans, trying to fuck back onto Hux’s tongue. 

Hux is drooling. His mouth is watering as he presses his lips, open-mouthed to Ren’s rim, and licks shallowly in, tasting Ren’s sweat and musk. He doesn’t want to swallow, so he just drips saliva down his chin, and soon Ren is soaked with it, his hole is sloppy with it, and it rolls down his perineum and drips off his balls. Hux is wet up to his cheekbones, and so, so hard in his shorts, but his hands are busy holding Ren’s ass open, so he ignores it. He ignores the twinge in his lower back as he contorts to keep fucking Ren on his tongue. He ignores the sweat and drool running down his throat. 

His eyes are closed and his focus narrows to the feel of Ren’s hole going loose and pliant under his tongue, how he can’t even taste his sweat anymore, how Ren keeps heaving in these racking gasps, almost sobs, as his muscles shake. Hux begins to moan steadily, with each new pass of his tongue, and Ren shouts.

“Fuck, Hux!” he cries, his voice wrecked. Hux pushes his face deeper, and lets one hand slip around Ren’s body, and wraps his fist around Ren’s needy cock. Ren screams, and seems unable to decide if he wants to buck forward into the circle of Hux’s fist, or back into the velvet of his tongue. Hux sets up a harsh rhythm, too far gone himself for tenderness, and Ren’s voice tears from his throat with nonsense, animal growls. Hux pushes his tongue in, and moans, long and loud, and Ren jolts like a speeder hitting a wall, and comes all over the floor, screams muffled by a mouthful of that horrid jumpsuit.

Hux strokes him past the point of over-sensitisation, just to hear Ren’s screams dissolve into sobs to feel the last, painful shudders as Ren’s cock grew soft. When he pulls away, his face is dripping, and he mops uselessly at it with his sodden undershirt. He is wet to the ears. 

Heavily, Ren turns over, his soft cock pink and used across his belly. He kicks off his briefs and stares Hux down. 

“Hux,” he rasps, rolling forward, approaching on all fours like a felinx, his expression dazed but menacing. He butts his head against Hux’s chest, pushes until Hux falls back onto his elbows, insinuates himself between Hux’s legs. “Hux,” he says again, before sinking down to press his mouth against the front of Hux’s underwear, sucking precome from the fabric, tonguing Hux’s cock through it. 

It’s too much, and Hux comes helplessly, a broken, “Ren!” falling from his lips as he pulses messily into his shorts. Ren sucks and licks all the way through it, even as Hux pushes weakly at his head, even as his moans turn into pleas, even when he collapses boneless to the duracrete, unable to do anything but writhe in the waves of pleasure-pain. “Oh,” he says, weakly, when Ren finally pulls away, licking his lips. “ _Ren_.”

He reaches for Ren’s face, touches his heavy brow gently, and he doesn’t even know what he’s about to say when they hear footfalls in the corridor. Ren bolts for his jumpsuit, tugs it on with nothing underneath, pulls his wig on haphazardly and gropes on the floor for his fake glasses, as if he doesn’t have telekinetic powers that could summon them immediately. Hux tugs on his jodhpurs and winces at the come cooling in his shorts, spares a glance to the large wet spot in the jumpsuit’s midsection where Ren had been biting it, stands with his arms behind his back, awaiting the engineers. It feels odd to stand at attention barefoot. With a barely withheld tut, he walks over to Ren and straightens his wig, tucks that thrice-damned stray lock of hair up under it, and waits.

If the engineers who unlock the door notice anything odd, they have the good sense not to say anything. Hux wonders how obvious Ren’s come is, splattered across the floor. He gathers his clothing, nods smartly to Ren, and steps out into the cool hallway. It’s blissful, and his skin prickles with it as he turns to Ren who is lurking a ways behind. Ren meets his eyes, and licks his lips again. All over again, Hux flushes with heat.


End file.
